


Dark Times

by silkiemae



Category: X-Men (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Anna Marie - Freeform, F/M, I finally did it, Jean Grey - Freeform, Logan Howlett - Freeform, Phoenix - Freeform, Remy LeBeau - Freeform, Wolverine - Freeform, X-men - Freeform, also unwilling friends, and logan's like god dammit not again, cuz jordan said so, gambit - Freeform, he also has a wolf husky dog named chuck, like shit goes down, rogue - Freeform, shoved together by some shit, the usual sadness, you know
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-10
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2018-04-25 16:20:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 15
Words: 12,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4967827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silkiemae/pseuds/silkiemae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Both Logan and Marie are trying to escape their pasts.  Of course, the past always has a way of catching up to us.  Sometimes it even has a way of shoving us with someone we never thought we needed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> People have been asking me for awhile if I was going to write more of the Skin story I posted a few months back. I figured why not make an AU about it so welcome to my Logan/Rogue story. It's the typical girl runs from mean boyfriend and falls for the disgruntled mechanic next to her work. But with more fun stuff. No powers involved, but please enjoy. Feedback and ideas are always welcomed.

Marie’s hands went up behind her, her fingers wrapping around the cool metal of the pole as she slid her hips down and spread her legs apart. The music was soft, but loud enough that it consumed her and she couldn’t hear the awes of the men watching. She’d been working at The Thieves’ Guild for a month now—it hadn’t been her first option as a career path after leaving home but it wasn’t as if she’d had much choice. 

She opened her eyes spotting some of the girls in the crowd watching—instantly, she recognized Phoenix and Storm, little quirked smiles on their faces. She knew what they were thinking, ‘we’ve taught our girl well.’ When Marie had come to the club she’d had to dance for the owner, Remy Lebeau—she’d known nothing of dancing then, only that you had to sway your hips and maintain client with the one you’re dancing for. It seemed to work for her because Remy had leaned forward, his elbows on his spread knees and he’d smiled, tipping his hat.

“Miss,” he said in a thick Louisianan accent. “My name is Remy Lebeau but to the customers, they call me King Gambit. We don’t tell the clientele our names ever, so I think it’s time you pick a new one for yourself.” Marie had smiled at him and raised her eyes to the ceiling thoughtfully.

She’d known what her mother would say once she found out she’d disappeared. She’d go down screaming to her father, ‘Owen! Anna’s gone “Rogue,”’ Marie said finally looking at Remy. “My name is Rogue.”

“Well then, welcome to the team, Rogue.”

\--

Marie opened her eyes and sat up as a semi truck rumbled just below her window. Her breathing was shallow and rapid as she tried to shake the remnants of her dream away. As much as she tried to escape the Guild it followed her in her nightmares—she had practically crossed the country just to get away from Remy and his Guild of dancers and ‘thieves’. 

She was in the middle of nowhere in a surprisingly roomy apartment with her old co-worker Jean Grey, or as everyone at the Guild called her, Phoenix. Jean had left six months before Marie did when she fell in love with a bartender named Cyclops. They ran away together to live just on border between Montana and Canada and now of ‘syke!’ Marie was forced to call him Scott.

“Marie!” came a singsong voice, following a musical little knock at her door. “Marie, are you awake?” 

Marie leaned her head back against wall positioned perfectly against her mattress. “What do you want Jean?” she grumbled, wanting nothing more than to go back to bed. Or perhaps shower and then go back to bed.

“Could you do me a huge favor please?” Jean crooned, cracking open the door and then deciding it was safe, she forced her way through the door and sat on the edge of Marie’s mattress. 

“What?” Marie grumbled, rolling over to face Jean. Her scarlet hair was bunched on top of her head in a pony tail that reminded Marie of those fancy French feather dusters her mom always used. 

“Could you please take my car to that shop by your work for me today? I would ask Scott to do it but I don’t know if he can keep his cool around that awful mechanic for much longer.”

“Why don’t you just get a different car, then you won’t have to deal with that ‘awful mechanic’ anymore?” Marie asked, which earned her a swat on the butt. They both knew the answer to that. They were broke. Well, Scott wasn’t broke, in fact he was rolling in dollars from his bartending job—but it was only because of him that the three of them could afford to live in this apartment. Jean refused to dance again, saying it was demoralizing and that Scott should be the only man to see her in ‘that way’—and Marie was just trying to lay low. She worked in a truck stop diner next to a truck stop auto shop so literally the only other people she saw besides Marie and Scott were her coworkers and fat, old, grumpy truck stop drivers.

“Will you do it, please? I have a job interview that I have to go to so I don’t have time today but I need that car to work so I can continue getting to this job that I’ll most likely get.”

“Fine, fine, just let me sleep,” Marie grumbled, swatting at Jean to leave. 

“Thank you, I love you. I’m bringing you lemon meringues from that bakery you like,” Jean said, clapping her hands excitedly.

“Good,” Marie muttered. She lay in bed for a while, listening to the sounds of the pipes in her walls clanking together and the door slamming shut as Jean rushed out for her interview. After glancing at the clock, she saw that she had another hour until she had to get ready for work.

With a groan and a sudden decision to no longer dream of the Guild she forced herself out of bed and headed to the little bathroom attached to he room. After buttering herself head to toe in coconut oil she exited the shower and wrapped her dark hair in a towel. 

She slid on the mint green dress that was her uniform—it really was a truck stop diner. Luckily, there were no roller skates. Marie blow dried her hair and swiped on mascara and she was ready an hour and a half early for work. She stared at herself in the mirror for a moment and didn’t miss how exhausted she looked. Nor how bright the white streak at the front of her dark head of hair was. This was the second time she’d run away now and each time left a little memento. The first escape was from her parents and after she’d chosen the name Rogue for herself she’d gotten it tattooed on her wrist. The second was now from Remy and so she’d bleached this strand of hair as a reminder that all people, no matter how good they seemed could turn dark in the blink of an eye. 

She just hoped that she could stay bright.


	2. II

Howlett’s Auto Shop was nothing fancy. It could fit three cars in the garage at a time while the others would stay parked behind the shop. The outside was painted red with a big white sign posted right above the garage door with the stores name and a little picture of a Wolverine under it. Logan Howlett was the owner—a gruff man in his early thirties with a crazy head of dark hair and a beard to match. He looked like his face was in a permanent scowl so most people tended to avoid talking to him, let alone looking at him. Which was exactly the way he liked it.

Once upon a time this wasn’t always the case. After the war Logan was as anti social as he was now until he met Rose that things seemed to finally get a little better for him. She was always there when he woke up in a cold sweat, breathing hard, his fists clenched tightly. She always was there to kiss his cheek and usher him back to bed. Of course, there was Chuck as well—the little wolf pup they had found abandoned near the outskirts of their home. They lived in the center of the woods in Toronto and so Logan did a lot of hunting—as well as a lot of lumberjack work. 

Now it was just Logan and Chuck and this damned Auto Shop. Tuesday morning was humid enough that he had all the fans pointed directly at him as he worked on the engine of a Fiat—the garage door wide open so he could hear all the traffic whirring by over whatever radio station he’d put on. Chuck was lying in his preferred corner, snoozing comfortably on an overstuffed red armchair, ratted away from when he used to chew on it. 

“Excuse me?” came a soft southern voice from just behind him. He turned to find a vaguely familiar slip of a girl standing before him. There was a red truck behind her, the engine still vibrating indignantly that he did recognize immediately. Logan quirked his eyebrow at the girl inviting her to continue speaking.—his eyes raking her up and down. She wore a diner outfit, like the ones from next door and maybe she’d served him coffee once upon a time. “I was wondering if you could fix the truck. It’s been having some issues again and—“

“Sure,” Logan said gruffly and turned away. 

“Uh, I’ll just leave the keys in the ignition I guess. I work until five so if you need anything I’m next door….”

“Fine.” 

And with that the girl from the diner left without a word and Logan didn’t even bother to check behind him to see if she’d left the key or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so now we have the two introductory chapters of our two MC's. The upcoming chapters will be much longer and hopefully more exciting. Enjoy!


	3. III

There are some things in this world that you’re never meant to see. When you do see them—hear them, smell them, taste them even—they take a part with you. Marie was all too familiar with losing part of herself to something she never should’ve experienced. Anna was left back home with her mother and Rogue abandoned with Remy and his Guild of Thieves. She didn’t know if she was ready to get rid of Marie as well—but somehow she had a feeling that something was about to happen. She’d felt that way for a while now, like something was off. It had felt even stronger that morning when she’d open her eyes—like something was coming for her. She just wasn’t sure what.

The diner was silent, save for the fifties music crackling from the old jukebox in the corner. Everyone aside from Marie had gone home—and after a hefty list of instructions on how to properly close the diner, she’d been given the key from her crotchety old boss. The man was nice in his way but he had a temper that could battle even the grumpy mechanics. 

It had only taken her an hour to make sure the cash was all accounted for and the diner tables and bar were spick and span—she’d even mopped the floor after finding she was severely bored. Now she was sitting at the bar waiting, fiddling with the jukebox choice box. 

Howlett’s was dim—there was no outward appearance of anyone even being there and she’d been about to give up and call Scott from the office phone to come pick her up but if she listened closely enough, she could hear the low rumbling of engines in the garage. She could even hear the soft hum of the radio station that the mechanic was playing. 

She realized she probably should’ve asked for his name when he’d come into the diner for a cup of coffee around the middle of her shift. He told her he’d have the car ready for her to drive home an hour or so after close and she’d simply nodded and accepted his five-dollar tip with a small smile. There’d been no nametag on his shirt—but then again he wasn’t wearing one of those mechanic shirts one often wore when one was a mechanic. He simply wore a dirty white t-shirt with a flannel tied around his waist.

The diner had been plenty empty at that time save for the pot-bellied man in the corner eating a greasy egg sandwich that the cook, Tony had whipped up. So she’d spent the time either staring into space or staring at the mechanic. He looked more like a lumberjack then anything with his head of dark hair and his jaw covered in just as much hair as the top of his head. He seemed to be perpetually scowling at whatever he was looking at, be it a Marie, a cup of coffee or his own damn fists—which were pretty scarred up from the brief glance Marie had gotten.

He’d gotten up and left so abruptly that she wondered if he’d noticed how startled she’d looked by it. She’d been so entranced watching his jaw clench and unclench as he drained the remainder of his coffee that he’d completely snapped her out of her daze. “I’ll see you with the keys,” he’d said, waving his hand without looking behind him. She’d simply nodded before realizing much too late that he couldn’t see her.

The other waitress Kitty had sidled up to Marie with raised eyebrows. “He scares the shit out of me. But I would let him do things to me,” then she sidled away as if she was never there. 

The door to the diner chimed as it opened and Marie was once again startled out of her reverie—she turned her head, ready to either turn away a weary truck driver or to accept the keys from the mechanic but instead froze. Her mouth was popped open as she had begun to form words but they were stuck in the back of her throat like an ice cube. That cold feeling as the ice slowly melted spread throughout her body down into the pit of her stomach as she stared at the man standing in the doorway.

“Well if it isn’t my favorite dancer,” the man said.


	4. IV

It wasn’t the man from her nightmares—or the one from her dreams, but he was just as bad. The moment he turned his head ever so slightly in the light and she saw the gleam of his pitch-dark hair her throat had clenched up. She remembered brief conversations between Remy and this man in the office and the way he had raked his eyes over her. Azazel—he was the one Remy answered to and Azazel answered to someone else—and like everyone at the Guild of Thieves, Azazel had his own special name. Beelzebub—or as the girls in the back liked to call him, the Devil. 

“Look at you, Rogue. Living the white trash life—well…more of a white trash life,” he chuckled lowly before stepping fully into the light. Seeing his face in the clear light made Marie finally stand up straight, her back hitting the bar in her hurry and sending a sharp jolt of pain up her spine. 

He wore a black suit as always, crisp and clean and high collared. His hair was slicked back, blending in easily with his black goatee. Then there was that scar, the scar that she had always wondered how he’d gotten it dancing down in a perfect line just over his left eye. His eyes had always been the most unnerving thing about him, how bright and blue they were—like they were somehow inhuman.

“What are you doing here, Azazel?” Marie whispered, finding her footing and managing to put the bar between the two of them.

“It’s time to come home, I think you know that,” Azazel said with a grin. His fingers danced along the bar top as he continued perusing the diner with his bright blue eyes. “You know we’ve all missed you. My boy especially—Kurt asks about you all the time.”

“Kurt always wanted what he never could have. He has that in common with his daddy,” Marie spat out—immediately surprising herself with the venom in her voice. Azazel shot her a sharp look, his eyes finally connecting with hers. She felt herself go cold all over as she watched him cross the barrier that separated them.

“Well, Kurt can have whatever he wants. Especially since he’ll be running the Thieves Guild now that your King is gone.” Azazel said with an insidious grin. 

He was too close for comfort now and she would’ve grabbed one of the dinner knifes to the left of her if he hadn’t moved so fast. He’d lunged forward, his hand wrapping around her throat and slamming her back into the wall. She gasped as his fingers dug into the side of her neck, his free hand coming to rest on the wall beside her head. 

His breath smelled acrid, like he’d just finished drinking whiskey and smoking a cigar. She grimaced, turning her head away from him and looking toward the windows that showed a rainy highway. “You can either get in that car of your own volition and take me to Phoenix or…” he pulled a gun from his suit jacket and placed the barrel against her head. “Well, there’s really only the one option.”

Just as Marie was about to spit out some obscenity the door rang again. Her heart plummeted at the thought of another person coming in to help Azazel drag her to Jean’s place—she knew she couldn’t fight Azazel off and she definitely knew she couldn’t fight two men off. 

“Car’s done,” came the gruff voice of the mechanic next door. He hadn’t seemed to notice that the lights were dim and that the only sound was still the rickety jukebox at the end of the hall of booths next to the restroom and Marie’s labored breathing. He seemed to glance up sensing something wrong, an unlit cigar between his lips and her car keys jingling between his fingers. 

She wished she knew his name so she could shout to him but all that came out was a meek little whimper—but it was enough. The mechanic turned his head in her and Azazel’s direction and his already grumpy expression turned even sourer. “Am I interrupting something?” he asked, his eyes taking in the scene before him.

Azazel had slyly slid the gun away from Marie’s head and out of view before the mechanic managed to catch sight of it—so he just could see Marie slammed against the wall with Azazel’s hand wrapped around her throat. “Yes, actually,” Azazel said, his voice gruff as he turned to look at the mechanic. 

“Well,” the mechanic said with a grin around the cigar. “That’s my specialty right there. I need to talk with that little lady about paying me for her car repair,” he said, gesturing to Marie with a jerk of his head.

“Well, you’ll have to wait,” Azazel growled, his hand tensing around Marie’s throat. Her hands shot up to claw at his wrist as her oxygen was cut off. “Get rid of him,” Azazel hissed low enough that only she could hear; or rather that’s what he though.

“Sorry, bub. I’m not that easy to get rid of,’ Logan took a seat at the bar just in front of them, his hands clenched in two large fists as he carefully assessed the dark haired man in front of him. “Plus, looks like she’d rather get rid of you than me.”

With a grunt of irritation, Azazel shoved away from Marie and placed both his hands on the diner; gun included, and stared down the mechanic. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

“Name’s Logan,” the mechanic said, his eyes not even flashing toward the gun subtly pointed at him. “I’m the mechanic next door.”

“Well Logan, how about you kindly get the fuck out of here and let me get back to my business—before we have to make you my business too.”

Brandishing a match out of nowhere, Logan lit the match and put it to the end of his cigar. He puffed on it a couple times, looking down to watch it light—and then inhaled deeply. He pulled the cigar from his mouth and blew a big cloud of smoke in Azazel’s direction who looked angrier than ever. “I’m gonna give you one more chance to walk out of here and leave the lady alone,” Logan said, finally making eye contact with Azazel.

Azazel laughed heartily, his head thrown back before he lifted the gun and put the barrel to Logan’s forehead. “Or what?”

With a heavy sigh, Logan reached up and took the cigar from his mouth, looking at the burning tip of it. He looked up at Azazel and in an explosion of movement took his hand holding the gun and stubbed the cigar on top it. Azazel let out a shout of pain and fired the gun but Logan had managed to move out of the way before lunging forward and colliding his head with Azazel’s. 

Azazel went down and Logan was able to grab the back of his jacket and haul him over the bar, flinging him with ease into a diner table. Marie stood frozen, watching the two with wide eyes as Azazel gained his footing and took a swing at Logan, hitting him square in the face. Aside from his head jerking to the side with the punch, Logan seemed un-phased. He touched his jaw and nodded as if in approval before punching Azazel in the nose. 

“I gave you fair warning, bub,” Logan said as Azazel touched the blood dripping from his left nostril. “You could’ve—“ but Marie never found out what Azazel could’ve done because he ran at Logan, tackling him into the bar.

Marie screamed as the two of them went down and the only sound was of flesh hitting flesh. She ran around the bar and found Azazel on top of Logan, pounding into his face and she did the only thing she could think of and flung herself at Azazel. “Get off of him!” she shrieked and Azazel threw her off of him with ease. 

She slammed into the wall, seeming to melt down it as Azazel stood up and straightened himself. He rolled his neck, a satisfying pop sounding throughout the diner and walked over to Marie. He grabbed her by the hair at the top of her scalp and hauled her up. “You’re going to regret this,” he hissed and hit her hard with the back of his hand.

Her head jerked to the side, her vision flashing white as pain seared through her face. She tasted blood in her mouth and when Azazel hit her again she could’ve sworn she could see stars dancing. He was about to hit her again when something loud sounded through the room and suddenly Marie was covered with blood and it was no longer Azazel standing in front of her, but Logan, with the barrel of Azazel’s gun smoking in her direction.

Logan lowered the gun and spat blood on the ground. “What a prick.”


	5. V

When Marie was thirteen years old she’d found her grandfather dead. Her grandmother had died years ago and she remembered the funeral only very vaguely—a lot of black and the smell of powder. Her Grandpa was one of the greatest people that she knew—even though when you’re thirteen you don’t know a whole lot of people. He lived just down the street from her and her parents so every day just after she got out of school she’d walk over to play scrabble with him and talk about what she learned that day. He used to tell her old war stories even though her mother insisted that he’d never even been in the war. 

It was fall, just a week or two before Halloween and she was wearing green tights and a yellow dress, skipping to her Grandpa’s house excited to tell him about how they were learning about Christopher Columbus. She’d walked in the door and found Mr. Higgins, her Grandpa’s tabby cat meowing angrily at a bird outside the window. She’d called out for her Grandpa but there was no answer. It didn’t take long for her to find him, sitting in the reading room with his eyes closed and a book open on his chest. 

He wouldn’t wake up. She kept saying his name and poking his shoulder but no matter what she did he wouldn’t wake up. She’d seen death a few times after that but it was never as peaceful as her Grandpa’s death. They didn’t just go to sleep and never wake up. 

Azazel was lying on the ground, a puddle of blood spreading beneath his dark hair and a small hole in the center of his forehead. His eyes were open, their icy blue staring accusingly up at her. Marie could taste his blood in her mouth mixing with her own blood from the split lip he’d given her. She wanted to scream, maybe cry but somehow she just felt numb. Like she was frozen in time and there was nothing else important but Azazel’s accusing glare.

She was slammed back to reality when Logan gripped her upper arms and shook her hard. “Wake up little girl,” he growled and her eyes focused on his. They weren’t icy and they weren’t accusing, in fact they were warm—dark brown and simply staring at her with a sort of unwanted concern. “Are you alright?”

Marie nodded. “You killed him,” she whispered and Logan looked at the dead body at his feet without any compassion. 

“He didn’t give me much of a choice.” Logan’s face was bloody and bruised from where Azazel had hit him but he simply looked annoyed with the whole situation. “Come on, girl. We’ve got to get rid of him.”

If she were anyone else she would’ve said something about calling the cops. Somehow, though she knew that that wasn’t an option. She’d had to change her name just to be safe for this long—calling the police about Azazel’s murder would just lead them right to her. 

“Stay here,” Logan grunted before disappearing out the door and jogging to his shop. He was only gone a few minutes but being alone with Azazel’s dead body was too much. She couldn’t take his stare anymore so she bent down and with a shaking hand shut his eyes. 

When Logan returned he was carrying a large black tarp and a white towel—he tossed the towel to her and began laying the tarp out next to Azazel’s body. “Here, clean yourself up,” he said and then rolled Azazel’s body easily onto the tarp. Marie wiped her face, watching as it came away streaked bright red before she helped Logan roll the tarp closed around Azazel. Logan had also brought duct tape and the two got to work wrapping it around and around the bag. 

“Clean the floor. I’ll get rid of him,” Logan said gruffly before lifting the tarp and flinging it over his shoulder. He came back a few minutes later to grab the gun as well and then he left and didn’t come back for a long time. 

Marie spent the time scrubbing at the floor furiously—her arms ached and her heart pounded in her throat as she felt tears well up behind her eyes. She sat back on her feet, her body shaking as she looked at the floor. Soapsuds mixed with the pink tinge of blood. She’d cleaned the floor three times already and it just didn’t seem to be enough—like an old stain you could never get rid of. 

How did he find her? She and Jean were so careful about getting out—of making a place for themselves that would be safe. What would she tell Jean? 

The thought of shattering Jean and Scott’s peace was too hard to think of and so it was easy to come to the conclusion to keep this to herself. This was her burden to bear—she couldn’t bring that pain on Jean. If she was lucky Azazel hadn’t told anyone that he’d found her, if she were lucky they were still searching blindly for someone that had disappeared.

Logan walked into the diner then, still in his bloody white shirt but now there was a lit cigar in his mouth that he puffed on nonchalantly. “How’s it goin’?” he asked and Marie looked up at him in disbelief.

“How are you so calm right now? You just killed a man…and buried his body like it’s nothing. Like you’ve done it before,” Marie said and watched as Logan shrugged. “You have done it before, haven’t you?”

“How about you just focus on getting that floor clean, eh?” 

Marie wanted to snap at him about maybe if he was so worried he should get off his ass and help her—but then again he was the one to take care of Azazel’s body. God, just the thought of him being a body now…the life gone from him. 

Good. He deserved it. 

Twenty minutes later and she had finished cleaning the floor. She disposed of the gloves she wore and even the brush she’d been using—she made sure to get rid of any traces of blood in the mop bucket and off the wall where she’d been. Now looking at the restaurant no one would ever guess that someone had just been killed here. 

She grabbed the keys to Jean’s car off the bar where they’d remained throughout the entire ordeal and finished closing the diner up. When the two were outside they stood in silence, Marie had her arms wrapped tightly around her torso feeling more than just the cold biting at her arms.

“Thank you,” Marie said quietly and Logan quirked an eyebrow at her. He nodded and turned to walk away. “What do I owe you?” she called out, suddenly remembering why he had come into the diner in the first place.

“Silence,” he said over his shoulder before heading back to his garage.


	6. VI

Marie dreamt of Remy that night.  Of his voice and the way he’d compliment her dances for him.  She dreamt of the way he said her name and then she dreamt of nothing. 

 

Three days had passed and Marie began to feel as though she’d been correct in guessing that only Azazel had figured out where she was. No one had asked anything at the diner—Logan wouldn’t even look at her let alone speak to her and Jean and Scott just raised their eyebrows at her when she’d come home that night.

 

Marie hadn’t said anything about Azazel, figuring it better to let Jean think things were alright—after all Azazel hadn’t shared her location. Everything would be fine.

 

Of course when the fourth day came upon them and Marie was exiting the hair salon—feeling the need to add something to symbolize Azazel’s demise; a white streak on the right side of her face—that she got a phone call from Jean.

 

“Hey lady, I just left the salon.  What’s up?”

 

“Marie,” Jean’s voice hissed over the phone.  “Marie, whatever you do, _don’t_ come home.”

 

Marie stopped just outside of Jean’s beat up wagon and found her fingers tightening around her phone.  “What? What’s happened Jean?”

 

“They found us, Marie.  They found us, you can’t come home.  You have to get away—“ Jean was cut off with a little shriek.  Then the line went dead. 

 

 

 

\--

 

Logan was finally taking a break after eight hours of heavy labor work on this atrocious Nissan.  He had taken up residence sitting on his workbench with a cold beer in his hand and Chuck’s head resting comfortably on his thigh. What had happened the other night had hardly even fazed him.  It was more annoying than anything, just another notch in his belt of shameful things he had done. If it were five years ago he might be distraught; might be thinking of calling the police and confessing his sins.  This Logan though, this Logan couldn’t care less.  That prick deserved it.

 

Chuck whined lowly, his green eyes staring up at Logan and Logan simply rolled his eyes and handed the dog the beef jerky that he had just unwrapped.  With an excited yelp, Chuck snatched it out of his hand and darted to his chair where he happily chomped on the dried meat.  “Stupid dog,” Logan said with a little smile before he took another swig of his beer.

 

Seeing that tiny little girl pinned up against the wall like that, Logan had wanted to rush at the guy.  He wanted to tackle him and put his face on one of the stove’s burners but he’d seen the gun, he knew the risk of doing anything too fast. So he sat and he played his cards and then that prick had gotten a one up on him and nearly knocked him out cold—he’d have failed that poor girl then.  That bastard would’ve beat her bloody and then done whatever it was he’d planned on doing with her and Logan would’ve been able to do nothing about it.

 

It wasn’t that he gave a damn about other people. It wasn’t that he was the kind of guy who stuck his nose in other people’s business.  Hell, if it was any other day he would’ve just left the keys and skedaddled—maybe.  Logan wasn’t a good guy…but he wasn’t exactly a prick either. 

 

He shook his head, trying to rattle the thoughts from his noggin.  He could dwell on what he could and couldn’t have done all day but that wouldn’t change the fact that he had new blood on his hands. 

 

“Logan?” came a voice behind him. Logan sighed preparing to accept another car to fix but froze when he saw her.  She looked different now, her hair had some white to it and it was down, curly.  It looked nice on her. He saw the way her chin was wavering and knew that tears were not far behind.  He didn’t like criers, didn’t know how to deal with them. Certainly didn’t know how to comfort anyone but Chuck and Chuck was happily munching on that jerky still.

 

 

“Hey…uh,” Logan paused, looting around his memory for this girl’s name.  “Marie. What can I do for you?” He hoped to god she wasn’t there to chat about what had happened.  He did not need to be her therapist.

 

“I need your help.  Please,” she said, her eyes darting around as her little hands clutched at the sleeves of her jacket.  She looked different outside of her diner costume—she wore jeans and a burgundy sweater, an army jacket pulled over the sweater and a black beanie clutched in her hands. 

 

Something about the way she said ‘please’ hit a nerve and Logan found himself nodding and inviting her in. His house was connected to the auto shop so it wasn’t a far walk and Chuck happily trotted along after them, his tail wagging and the jerky hanging from his mouth. 

 

Logan’s house was nothing special. There was a bedroom, a bathroom and a living room that connected to the kitchen, which doubled as a dining room. The living room housed a cracked brown leather couch and a cracked coffee table covered in books and ring marks. The television was small but it played all the channels Logan watched and that was all that really mattered to him. There were stacks of books everywhere, a metal trunk in the corner of the living room that was padlocked and a single picture on top of it. 

 

Logan led her over to the dining portion of the kitchen and sat her at the little wooden table there.  There was a glass of bourbon sitting on the table, half empty, the good stuff—and Logan took the bottle and poured it into two glasses before passing one to Marie. 

 

“So what’s the problem?” he asked, downing his drink in a single swig.

 

“The man…the man that you saved me from…he has friends and they found my roommate.  She called me and told me not to come home…I didn’t know where else to go.”

 

Logan swallowed the whiskey after letting it settled for a moment on his tongue.  He let out a sigh as it burned down his throat.  Marie was having a hard time making eye contact; she kept her gaze on the whiskey in her hands.  “Drink it,” Logan instructed.  “It’ll help.”

 

Tentatively, Marie lifted the glass and took a sip of the whiskey.  She cringed as she swallowed it but took another sip immediately after.  When the glass was gone Logan took it and refilled it and his own. “What makes you think I can do anything for you?”

 

“You stopped Azazel.  You saved me already before,” Marie said, finally looking up to meet Logan’s gaze.

 

“I ain’t nobody’s bodyguard, little girl.” Logan watched as Marie’s eyes darkened with anger.

 

“I’m not asking you to be my bodyguard. I’m asking you to help me.”

 

“This is your issue, not mine. I’m not getting dragged into this,” Logan said, swigging the whiskey in his glass.

 

“I can make it your issue,” Marie said darkly.

 

“Oh really?  How are you going to do that?”

 

“I’ll go to the police.  Tell them what you did.  I’ll tell them you killed Azazel.”

 

Logan was quiet for a long moment before he barked out a laugh and nodded.  “Alright kid. Looks like you and me are gonna take a ride.”


	7. VII

“I’m not so sure this is your smartest idea, kid,” Logan said, his lips wrapped around a cigar as they pulled his truck up to the apartment complex Marie lived in with Jean.  Marie looked up at the building and felt unease seep into her bones like ice at how normal everything looked.  The ghosts of her past had truly come back to haunt her and had possibly done something to Jean, shouldn’t somewhere that’s meant to be her safe haven look…somehow wrong?

 

“I need to know that Jean is alright,” Marie said. “I can’t just take off and leave her.” Marie heard Logan sigh and then he was reaching across her to open the glove compartment. Inside was a handgun, which he grabbed and handed to her.

 

“Know how to use one of these?”

 

A vision of Remy with his arms wrapped around her shoulders, his hands over hers as he taught her how to turn the safety off and breathe flashed across her eyes.  Marie nodded and took the gun, placing it in the back of the waistband of her jeans as she’d seen Remy do—and as she’d seen Azazel do.   “When we go in there I want you to do as I say. If you’re gonna blackmail me to be your bodyguard or whatever this is, you’re gonna have to listen to me—understand?”  Again, Marie nodded and watched as Logan sighed, stubbing his cigar out on the dashboard and then kicking open the door.  “Then let’s do this.”

 

Marie’s apartment was on the third floor and after telling Logan what apartment number she let him lead the way, his hand protectively spread out in case he needed to shove her out of harms way. Marie had always fended for herself even when she had Remy to fend for her if she really needed it. She wasn’t used to having someone protect her and she certainly wasn’t used to having someone kill for her, not that Logan had necessarily done it for _her…_ but it was nice to pretend.

 

They reached her apartment and Marie was unsurprised to find the door ajar, if only slightly.  Logan motioned for her to be quiet and to stay behind him as he nudged the door open with the toe of his boot.  The sound the door made was deafening in the silence, it seemed but the apartment was empty just from looking inside.  Empty of people at least. 

 

It looked as if a tornado had torn through Marie’s apartment.  Broken glass littered the floor, the couch was flipped, and the coffee table smashed as though someone had landed on it.  The television was emitting a bat like static screech as though someone had turned the volume all the way up to cover the sound of whatever had happened. Marie went to turn it off but Logan grabbed her arm and told her to wait.  It took him only a few moments before he returned from checking the other rooms and nodded to her. 

 

“What the hell do these people want from you kid?”

 

“It’s a long story,” Marie sighed, bending down to pick up a picture frame that had been added to the wreckage covering her floor.

 

“I think it’s about time you fill me in,” Logan said, leaning against the kitchen counter.  Marie glowered at him and Logan held his hands up in mock defense. “If I’m getting dragged in this I need to know what’s going on.  Don’t leave me in the dark to put the pieces together myself.”

 

“Alright, fine.  I’ll tell you but…not until we get out of here.  This place won’t be safe,” she sighed, glancing around.

 

“Get what you need and then we leave,” he said. Marie nodded before heading down the hallway to her bedroom.  Her room was the same as the living room, turned completely upside down.  She shook her head in disgust.  They didn’t need to destroy the place—it wasn’t as if Jean and her had stolen money from them.  Just their property…themselves.

 

Marie opened her closet to grab a suitcase and begin piling clothes into it but let out a shriek when a body fell on top of her. At first she thought it was someone attacking her but she realize when Logan appeared and hoisted the weight off of her that he was long dead.  “Oh my god,” she wailed when she realized who it was.  “Scott,” she whispered, her hands shaking as she reached out to try and take his pulse.

 

“Don’t bother.  He’s gone,” Logan muttered, looking at Scott’s body in disdain. He’d been shot in the chest; there was blood that was still wet covering his shirt and his skin.

“Poor Jean,” Marie whispered as her eyes burned with tears.  Scott’s eyes were closed, his hand gripping a cell phone and Marie went to gently pluck it from his fingers.  On the home screen was an image and when she opened the phone and blew the image up she realized it was a picture of Jean. Jean looking bloodied and beaten but with fire still in her eyes.  Next to the image was a text and she didn’t need to know the number to know whom the message was from.

 

IT’S TIME TO COME HOME ROGUE.

 

Marie chucked the phone at the wall with a cry watching as it shattered.  “Come on kid, get you stuff and let’s get you the hell out of here,” Logan said, his voice slightly more gentle than it had been moments before.

 

With effort, Marie forced herself to stand, grabbing her bag and shoving whatever clothes she could into it.  She went into the bathroom, grabbing a toothbrush, toothpaste and a brush and then zipped the bag closed.

 

\--

 

Later when they were on the road and had gone back to the Auto Shop to pick up Chuck, Marie’s phone starting buzzing. She frowned down at it wondering whom it would be—possibly the diner trying to call her in or Kitty asking her to cover a shift.  When she looked at the caller id though she almost dropped her phone.  It was Jean.

 

“Jean?” she breathed the second she picked up the phone.  “Jean, are you alright?”

 

“Marie, it’s not Jean,” came a voice on the other end. The voice was familiar though and it was friendly but Marie still found herself tensing. 

 

“Ororo,” Marie breathed.  “Is Jean okay?  What’s happening?”

 

“I can’t talk long girl, I called to warn you. Jean’s beaten up pretty badly but you know they’re just gonna make her dance again.  You know nobody steps out on their contracts. But they’re coming for you. You’ve got to ditch that phone, get as far away from that place as you can.  You understand me?”

 

“I can’t leave Jean,” Marie whispered.

 

“You can and you will.  She’ll be okay here.  I’ll take care of her.  Scott is gone so he’s not gonna look out for her anymore,” Ororo said, her voice catching on Scott’s name.  “You’re still a kid. We need you to be safe! Remy would want you to be safe,” Ororo said and Marie could hear the panic rising in her voice.

 

“Ororo what is going on?  What have they done?”

 

“It’s bad here.  It’s real bad.  Just please, lose the phone,” then the line clicked off.  Marie only had a moment to stare down at her phone before Logan took it from her and chucked it out the window.

 

“What the hell?” she cried, her hand still clutching the air where her phone would’ve been.

 

“They could be tracking you,” he said simply. “I don’t know what kind of shit you’ve gotten yourself into kid.  But it seems like these people don’t mess around.”

 

“We have to go back,” Marie said numbly. “I have to go save Jean.”

 

“You’re not saving anybody.  Trust me.  Just worry about yourself for now.”

 

Marie pressed her lips in a thin line before turning to look out the window.  She wouldn’t cry in front of this stranger even if he was the only person she seemed to have now.  With a whimper she felt Chuck press his nose to her hand, almost as if he were sensing her distress. She glanced down at him and pets the top of his head before returning her gaze out the window.

 

There had to be something she could do. She couldn’t run forever.


	8. VIII

Once upon a time there was a girl named Anna Marie.  She grew up in a hippie commune with her parents in Caldecott County.  Her mom started out all about free love and nature and peace and happiness.  Anna Marie was quite happy with her for a time, constantly dancing and spending all her energy with nature and the other people in her mom’s little circle of hippy friends.  Then they moved to a more city populated area in Mississippi and something about her mom seemed to harden.  She lost that free spirit and Anna Marie decided to lock hers away too.

 

Her father was fine.  He was a quiet and subtle man, always there and always sturdy but never incredibly significant.  It wasn’t until she was a teenager that her relationship with her father turned sour and she couldn’t take it anymore.  She ran away from home at seventeen and found her way to The Thieves Guild.

 

For awhile she had a home there.  She made friends.  Women and young girls like herself who had run away from their troubles—though theirs were much more substantial than Anna Marie’s.  When she arrived at the Guild she gave up the name Anna Marie and adopted her stage name Rogue.  Only one person ever called her by Anna Marie and that was Remy LeBeau. 

 

Remy was the club owner.  The club was just outside his hometown in Louisiana and he always seemed to be shuffling cards at the poker table.  Whenever she was on the stage though, his eyes never left her.  It wasn’t a hungry look, never that predatory stare that the men in the crowd usually gave her.  It was a look of admiration.

 

Rogue began to notice the looks he gave her but it wasn’t until her birthday that she realized what those looks might mean.  She was dancing on the night of her birthday and when the club closed down and she was pulling on clothes that covered more than just her rear and her breasts she was surprised by a massive party. Phoenix and Storm were in the center of it holding up an enormous cake that said ‘Happy Birthday Rogue’ in sloppy green and yellow frosting.

 

It was later that evening when they were cleaning up the party that Remy pulled her aside.  “Anna Marie,” he said softly.  He had dragged her into the lighting booth so that there was at least a wall separating them from all the others outside. 

 

“You know that’s not my name anymore,” Rogue grumbled, crossing her arms.

 

“That’ll always be your name, _ma_ _cheré_.”  He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a green velvet box.  “I got you a present,” he said, taking her hands and gently placing the box between them. She opened it and inside found a silver charm bracelet.  On the bracelet were four little cards, each with a different suit pressed into them.

 

“It’s beautiful,” she said with a laugh.  “You trying to ask me to be your girl?”  After she said it she regretted it.  But why else would he give her a bracelet with _his_ charms.

 

“I might be,” Remy said with a little smile.  A smile that tugged at her heart and made her do something she never thought she would’ve done.  She hadn’t even been this bold with the one boyfriend she’d had before she ran away. Cody Robbins, the first boy she’d ever kissed.  Shortly after he’d been hit by a semi and ended up in a coma and somehow she thought she had something to do with it.  That she was cursed and that her kiss was a curse. 

 

She didn’t feel that way when she kissed Remy though. Kissing Remy felt like something else altogether.  Something she couldn’t explain.  Like nothing could or would ever go wrong.

 

She’d been wrong before.  And she was wrong again.

She had been in one of the dressing rooms waiting for Remy after the club closed. He’d told her he had to tie up some loose ends and then he’d come get her and they’d spend the night together.

 

She’d been so lost fantasizing in their potential night that when she heard the gunshot it was like the world froze around her.  There was shouting and then a cold, harsh laugh. One she would never forget and then she was running. 

 

Remy was sitting in a chair facing away from her, she could see his long dark hair and watched as he ran his fingers through it.  The room was empty of anyone but him and her and his fingers were bloody.

 

“Rem?” she whispered, walking slowly around the table. 

 

“ _Ma chere_ ,” he said with considerable effort.  When she faced him she dropped to her knees, the blood spreading across his shirt was dark and looked like chocolate syrup.

 

She didn’t know what to do, her hands fluttered uselessly over him until finally he took one of them with his bloodied hand.  He brought her fingers to his lips and kissed each one before cradling his face in her palm. 

 

“Remy,” Rogue whispered once again.  Remy smiled at her, that lazy, fond smile she’d grown to love. “Remy, don’t leave, please,” she croaked.  She didn’t realize her cheeks were wet with tears until he reached out to wipe them away with his thumb.

 

“I never thought someone as good as you would cry for someone like me,” he whispered, with a smile, blood coating his teeth. “Anna Marie…I love you. Never loved anything like I love you. You are…”

 

Rogue never learned what she was.   Remy trailed off, his thumb dropping from her cheek and his head falling limply in the palm of her hand.  He still had that half smile, his eyes still gazing fondly at Rogue. “No,” she wailed, shuffling forward to grab his face with both her hands.  “Remy, no.  Don’t be dead. You’re not dead. Please,” she cried, pressing her lips to his but her mouth only came away bloody.

 

She stayed with Remy for what seemed like years before she finally wrenched herself away.  She packed her bags and called the only person she had left in this world.  And now the only person she had left was right back where they had taken Remy for her. 

 

Whatever happened now, Marie vowed she would get Jean back.

 

 


	9. IX

Marie sat in the pick up truck with Logan and told him what she could. Of course, she left our every detail possible considering this man was just as much a stranger as everyone else but she did owe him somewhat of an explanation considering she was now blackmailing him into being her rescuer. 

 

So he knew now of her previous employment with the Guild of Thieves—her relationship with the owner and that the owner was now killed and so she fled with Jean and Scott.  Now Scott was dead, Jean was taken and she was on the run.   That was really all he needed to know—there was no evil corporation scheming some plot to take over the world.  These were just some hungry sharks looking to pick the bones of some girl’s life.

 

Logan listened to her story without a word.  The only sound in the car was of Chuck’s panting as he watched trees and trucks pass by.  Chuck had his head rested on the center console now, his eyes flicking between Logan and Marie, silently begging for one of them to pet him.  Logan finally answered his plea after the silence began to take his toll.  He scratched Chuck on the back of the ears and reached over to take Marie’s hand.

 

She didn’t mean to jerk away, it just had become reflex. The last person she had willingly touched had died in her arms and the one before that had ended up in a coma. What would happen if she let Logan touch her? The only person she had to protect her?

 

Logan didn’t say anything to her flinch, just made it seem as though he were going to reach for something in the glove box.  He pulled a cigar out and lit it, rolling his window down slightly before puffing out a cloud of smoke.  “I know somewhere we can lay low,” he said finally.  “You’ll be safe there—then we can figure out how to get your friend out.”

 

“Thank you,” Marie said, quietly, staring at her hands now clutched together. “I know I dragged you into this and you’d probably be anywhere but here, but thank you.”

 

Logan shrugged, noncommittally.  “It’s been awhile since I’ve had me a good fight.  There’s always a war to be fought somewhere and I’d rather be in it then on the sidelines.  I’m no watcher.”

 

Marie couldn’t help the little smile that quirked her lips. “You’re a fighter,” she said. Logan nodded.  “Could you teach me to be one too?”

 

Logan hesitated, looking over at the small girl in his passenger seat. “You sure?”

 

Marie was quiet, looking out the window at the passing trees. Snow had just begun to fall, coating the branches a comfortable pillow white.  Marie wouldn’t let anyone else die.  She wouldn’t let her curse become someone else’s burden. Not again.  “I’m sure.”

 

“I’ll teach you how to fight then,” Logan grunted, eyes focusing back on the road as he continued to puff at his cigar. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is just a filler chapter, my bad for taking so long to update. I've been sick and therefore my creativity has been blocked. Hopefully you like this and I'm hopefully going to finish the story by this weekend.


	10. X

The place Logan took Marie to was an old cabin literally in the middle of nowhere.  It hung precariously off a cliff that plunged into a snowy waterfall, water constantly splashing up the left side of it leaving the wood there much darker than the rest. Marie wondered how there was no mold issue with the constant wetness but Logan simply shrugged the question off. The cabin was in good condition even though it looked like it hadn’t seen residency in quite awhile, years possibly. A thin layer of dust covered nearly every surface and when Marie dropped her bag on the brown couch pressed against a wide set window, a thick plume of dust coated the inside of her nose.

 

Chuck let out a whine and went in the opposite direction of the dust only to find an equally dusty armchair.  He let a defeated sigh out as he settled in for yet another nap—given that he had slept most of the ride to the cabin. 

 

“Home sweet home,” Logan said, but the look in his eyes said this place was anywhere but sweet to him.  “There’s only the one bedroom.  I’ll take the couch,” he said, his eyes wandering the place, taking in the bare walls and Chuck curled in a ball on the armchair.

 

“I couldn’t,” Marie objected.  “This is your home.”

 

“This ain’t my home,” Logan said darkly, his eyes snapping to Marie’s face. “Take the bed. We’ve got an early morning,” he said before he took a towel and started beating it free of dust.

 

Marie didn’t see a point in arguing with Logan—spending only such a short amount of time with him it had become quiet obvious he was not a man one argued with.  She found that the bedroom was just as bare and void of residence as the rest of the cabin. There was a king size bed with nothing but a pair of white bed sheets and a large blue comforter spread across it. She mimicked Logan’s action and began beating away the dust from the comforter and the pillows. When she finally kicked off her boots and collapsed on top of the bed she found that it was surprisingly comfortable even from years of disuse.  That didn’t help her sleep any better.

 

She was plagued by nightmares of Remy and Jean.  Remy bleeding out in her arms and Jean’s voice in the background begging her to help.  She didn’t know how to help her and she knew she wouldn’t leave Remy and so Jean was left to suffer wherever she was, constantly crying out for Marie to save her. Marie woke up covered in a sheen of sweat, her chest heaving with exertion, her eyes burning from unshed tears.

 

“What did you dream?” came a voice in the darkness causing Marie to literally leap from the bed in a crouch, ready to spring.  The chuckle that followed managed to ease her slightly—Logan stepped from the shadows and nodded appreciatively. 

 

It took Marie a moment to register that Logan was shirtless and another much longer moment for her to realize he had asked her a question. She was much too distracted by the way the lines of his stomach seemed to gleam in the moonlight. “I dreamt about…Remy,” she finally answered, swallowing thickly. 

 

“How long has it been?  Since he died?” Logan asked, brandishing a cigar from thin air and placing it between his teeth. He drew a long wooden match along the doorframe and lit the cigar, the heady smoke becoming somewhat familiar and comforting to Marie.

 

“Eight months,” she said, her eyes flickering to her hands. She could still feel him in her arms. “I wish…I wish I could find him. The bastard who took my Remy and…and…”

 

“Kill him?” Logan supplied.  Marie looked up in surprise but found that that was exactly what she wanted. She nodded and Logan lip quirked into a sort of self-deprecating smirk.  “Won’t help.”

 

“How would you know?” Marie muttered bitterly.

 

“This place…belonged to a woman named Rose,” Logan said, glancing around the room as if remembering things that used to be there.  When Marie stared at him uncomprehendingly he continued.   “Rose was my wife,” he said, a bittersweet smile forming on his lips.  “She was killed.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Marie said, finding some newfound understanding for Logan’s gruffness.  “Did they…” she was about to ask if the person who killed Rose was caught but something told her that she already knew the answer.

 

Logan stared meaningfully at Marie.  “You can kill this bastard that took your boy from you but that won’t take away those nightmares, girl.  You’re always going to have those.  You’re always going to dream of him and you’re always going to wish you could’ve done something different…you’re always going to think if you just got there sooner or if you just did _something_ different, they’d still be there.  But they won’t. They’re gone, kid. They ain’t coming back.”

 

“So what did you do?  How do you go on?”

 

Logan smiled again.  “I killed the son of a bitch that took my wife from me and it felt damn good. For a moment.”


	11. XI

Marie sat up with wide, watering eyes the next morning. She had dreamed of Remy, lifeless in her arms, covered in blood. She stared down at her clenched fists, empty of the man she had once loved and let out a trembling breath. She sometimes wondered if she’d ever escape the nightmares. If she’d ever have a restful night’s sleep—she couldn’t even remember what that felt like anymore.

 

After taking a few more calming breaths she swung her legs over the side of the bed, a rush of cold air causing the skin on her legs to rise. She hastily grabbed a sweater, wrapping it around her shoulders and then making her way into the kitchen area of the cabin. Somehow she was unsurprised to find Logan awake as well.

 

In the kitchen there was a door leading to the back of the house to a small patio. There was a swinging bench hung up amid a wild mass of what used to be someone’s carefully preserved garden. An old grill was pushed to the right side of the house and there were chairs knocked over and what probably was a glass table shattered on the ground. She could hear the creak of the bench as Logan lazily swung it, smoke puffing out from his umpteenth cigar.

 

She saw there was coffee on one of the counter tops and eagerly poured herself a cup. Clasping the warm mug between her hands trying to inhale the warmth, she made her way outside. She stopped short when she stepped outside, feeling as though her breath had disappeared. The waterfall and the orange-pink glean of the sunrise glancing off the water was astounding. The sunset seemed to double in the reflection of the fall making everything around it look softly pink. She held her breath for another moment before finally ripping her gaze away and turning to find Logan also gazing at the sunrise.

 

Marie sat beside him, bringing her legs up onto the seat of the bench. She sipped her coffee and closed her eyes with pleasure. It was a nice change of pace to wake up to. Instead of the honks of semi-trucks and just the general noise chaos to wake up to she had this. The sound of water splashing among itself, the chirps of waking birds, and the crickets finally putting themselves to rest was the most peaceful thing she could’ve imagined. No one shouting or cursing—no children screaming as they chased each other around their yards. No police sirens or fire trucks. There was just this calm breeze and the creak of the bench.

 

“Couldn’t sleep?” Logan finally said, glancing sideways at Marie. She turned to face him and nodded, taking another gulp of her coffee. It was nearly gone now, her throat feeling nice and warm. “How come?”

 

“I have nightmares.” It was all Marie needed to say. Logan would know about what, she’d already told him. Logan looked at her for a long time, puffing on his cigar and looking pensive and yet gruff at the same time.

 

“Me too, kid.”

 

“Don’t call me kid,” Marie said with slight disgust tingeing her tone. “I’m really not [i]that[/i] much younger than you, you know.”

 

Logan laughed at that but said nothing else in response. Instead her stubbed out his cigar and whistled to Chuck, who had been perched on the edge of the garden, surrounded by what looked like a bunch of overgrown lilacs. Chuck whirled his head around, his ears perking and then he bounded over to Logan with that big dog smile.

 

Marie wondered what it must be like to have that much love for someone. Just utter devotion, no reason to fear anything or wonder. They were yours and you were theirs and that was all that mattered. When Chuck had reached them he pressed his weight against Marie’s legs and looked up at her expectantly. With a giggle she bent down and scratched behind his ears, his tail beating against her thigh.

 

“He likes you,” Logan said, a smile in his words.

 

“How long have you two been together,” Marie asked and Logan smirked at the question. Yet, there was still a sadness in his eyes.

 

“Rose and I took him in after we found him in these woods. He was just a pup but had gotten himself into a hunter’s trap. We didn’t think he’d make it…but he’s a tough son of a bitch.” Chuck barked as if he knew he was being talked about it, his tail wagging furiously. “She named him Charlie and I hated it. So I kept calling him Chuck to piss her off. It stuck though, he won’t answer to anything else.”

 

Marie smiled down at Chuck trying to picture him, as a Charlie—but she just couldn’t. “He looks like a Chuck,” she voiced, glancing up at Logan with a smile.

 

“Yeah, he does.” Logan’s fond expression had disappeared and now he looked serious. “Alright, girlie, time to get started. You ready to fight?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I know it has been ages since I've updated and I am so so so sorry. I've been in a huge funk for a while when it came to writing but I'm finally getting my juices flowing again. I'm hoping to give you steady updates from here on out so thank you for sticking with me.


	12. XII

Marie grunted as she swung her fist forward in an attempt attempt to collide it with Logan’s jaw but he was gone before she got anywhere close. She whirled around, finding him behind her with the slightest smile on dancing across his lips. “Hey!” she grumbled, trying once more before he again disappeared.

 

“You’re telling me where you’re going to hit. I can see it in your eyes, your stance…even in that little grunt you do. You can’t let your enemy see where you’re heading or you’re never going to win,” Logan instructed, catching her fist as she attempted to surprise him with a blow to the gut. “Use your peripherals when aiming. Try and trick them into thinking you’re going for the jaw but really go for the gut.”

 

She did just that and managed to get him in the hip. He grunted a bit which she took as a positive sign. It had been three days. He showed her how to punch, kick, disarm and even bite her way out of a fight. Now was the part where she actually fought him with no instruction…which Logan was failing to do.

 

Marie opened her mouth to tell him as much when she was cut off by the distant sound of a car door shutting. Logan perked up just as Chuck let out a booming bark, a slight growl in his throat. Logan and Marie exchanged a glance before heading through the house to the front door. A shiny black Mustang sat out front, rumbling almost threateningly at the two of them.

 

Standing in front of the vehicle, sitting lightly on the hood was a man. He had a full head of dark, dark hair and an equally dark pair of mutton chops. He wore a black pea coat and jeans and stood with his arms crossed, a slight smile spread across his lips. “Well, looks like you got yourself a new girlfriend!” the man said, laughing at Marie. “She’s a lil’ thing, ain’t she?”

 

“What do you want, Victor?” Logan growled. Marie looked sharply at the anger in his voice. His hands were clenched at his side, his knuckles white.

 

Victor raised his hands in mock surrender, straightening up and taking a few strolling steps toward them, his hands now in his pockets. “I didn’t come for a fight, Logan. I came for the girl.”

 


	13. XIII

The silence that followed was stifling. Alarm shot through Marie’s body in strange little needle like pricks, in her gut, her throat and for some reason her right leg. She shuffled her feet slightly so that she was standing just behind Logan but still able to see the man called Victor. His eyes rested on Marie, an amused little smile playing on his lips.  
  
“Let’s not make any rash decisions now, Logan,” Victor said, kicking his leg out and widening his stance. Marie had a bad feeling about the way his hands sat in his pockets, like he was hiding something in their depths.  
  
“You made a mistake coming here, Victor,” Logan finally said, lighting a cigar he had produced out of nowhere. “The girl stays with me, brother.” Marie looked sharply at Logan, the alarm intensifying making her body feel numb.  
  
Victor laughed, a harsh, brittle sound. It seemed to rumble through the ground and up Marie’s legs. “Now who’s making the mistake! You know this only ends one way, Logan. Make the right choice and _give me the girl_.”  
  
“Why do you want her so bad? What’s in it for you?” Logan growled, puffing his cigar casually as if there was no threat before him. As if there was no cowering girl behind him.  
  
“What do you think? Lots of money, the only thing I ever do _anything_ for,” Victor chuckled. “You know who wants her. You know why,” Victor’s eyes shifted from Logan to Marie when he spoke next. “No one leaves the Guild unless he says so, girl. You know that.”  
  
“I’m not his property!” Marie shouted, surprising herself. “I won’t go back to work for a murderer.”  
  
“Ah, but you’ll hide behind one now. Open your eyes, girl. We’re all monsters here,” he spread his arms wide, taking his hands from his pocket and with it a gun. Marie’s breath hitched and Logan’s stance suddenly was threatening and defensive all at once. He seemed to vibrate like he was growling, a wolf with his teeth bared. “There he is now!”  
  
In a sudden burst of movement Logan reached behind him shoving Marie backwards while simultaneously propelling himself forward at Victor. A bark beside her surprised a scream out of her when she glanced and saw Chuck now standing before her, guarding her as his master had.  
  
Victor laughed as he swung his hand around, making to point the gun at Logan but he wasn’t fast enough. Logan had knocked his palm into Victor’s wrist, his grip on the gun loosening so that Logan could retrieve it from him and press it against Victor’s temple. All movement stopped except for Logan’s heaving chest. A low rumble was coming from Chuck’s throat.  
  
“I told you, you made a mistake coming here,” Logan growled. “Last chance, _brother_ get in your car and leave. Tell your boss you failed. And if I ever see your ugly mug again you don’t get to walk away.”  
  
Surprisingly Victor listened but he didn’t seem bothered by it at all. That same amused smile was on his lips as he held his hands up in mock surrender and backed up to his car. He opened the car door and locked eyes with Marie. He nodded his head in her direction before muttering just loud enough for her to hear, “be seeing you, Rogue.”


	14. XIV

Logan and Marie stood in a tense silence as they watched Victor’s car pull out and down the long road. The cabin was hidden by a copse of trees and soon the car disappeared from view. Marie let out a long breath, chancing a glance at Logan who looked incredibly put out. He sighed, reaching down and scratching Chuck’s head as the dog whined quietly.  
  
“Pack your things, it’s time we move on,” Logan muttered. Marie felt a stab of disappointment; she had begun to like it at the cabin. Spending most of her days learning to fight with Logan which she surprisingly wasn’t too bad at. Then spending her evenings reading a book on the cracked brown leather couch with Chuck lying beside her.  
  
“How did you know him?” she asked instead, looking more directly at Logan. She could tell it wasn’t a question he wanted to answer by the way his jaw was working. “Don’t bother trying to lie to me, I can see right through you,”  
  
Logan sighed before turning and heading in time, clicking his tongue for Chuck to follow. Marie watched the two enter the cabin before she turned for one last look at the copse of trees, Victor’s car had disappeared into. She followed Logan into the cabin and found him sitting in the dusty armchair Chuck usually liked to frequent. He held a glass of scotch and a cigar in his hand which he was in the process of lighting when Marie sat down across from him on the couch.  
  
“Victor was my brother,” he finally said after he’d taken a few puffs from the cigar. Marie felt a very distinctive shock throughout her body. She was ready to launch into a barrage of questions when Logan gave her a pointed look, seeming to sense her intentions. “We had different fathers but we grew up best friends, until we found out we were brothers and his father killed mine. I thought he was going to go after my mom next so I killed him first…and she was horrified by me. So I ran away with Victor.”  
  
Logan drained the scotch and stood up to refill his glass while Chuck looked mournfully at his armchair. “We were in the war together and I realized that Victor seemed to like killing…a little too much. When it was over I met Rose. Everything was _fine_ , we were happy and he turned it to shit. Truth is I’ve known this organization you’ve gotten yourself mixed up in. I didn’t know it until just now but Victor showed up before, tried to get me to join him. He said it’d be just like old times but he wanted me to leave Rose and that was something I’d never do. So he killed her.”  
  
“Oh my god, Logan,” Marie gasped. She wanted to tell him she was sorry but knew he wouldn’t respond well to it so instead she waited for him to finish.  
  
“The man who killed your Remy...killed my wife too. So this…this has changed, kid. I’m gonna help your get your friend back and I’m going to kill Shaw,” he growled, as he downed his next glass of scotch and flung the glass against the wall.

 


	15. XV

Chuck’s tongue was lolling out the side of his mouth as he held his head out the window of Logan’s truck. They had been driving for what felt like years but had probably only been a few hours. Neither of them spoke, they just stared ahead, driving like their destination was hell.

 

They were close now. The city was coming into view; it’s lights like a beacon leading them to where they needed to go. Marie’s heart suddenly was pounding in her throat. Her breathing was quickening and she gripped Chuck’s back in an effort to calm herself. Chuck looked back and licked her cheek before returning his gaze out the window.

The Guild came into view, green and yellow lights gleaming brightly across the entire strip. “I’m afraid,” Marie blurted out as her eyes glued themselves to the sign for The Guild. “I prayed so many nights that I would never have to come back here,” she whispered.

 

“This’ll be the last time,” Logan said, his voice low and rumbling like the engine in his truck. He parked his car across the street a little ways down before sitting back and taking a breath. “This isn’t going to go perfectly, girlie. It’s going to go a whole lot of ways.”

 

Marie took a deep breath and looked at Chuck who was still splayed across her lap. “What about Chuck?” she whispered and Logan grinned slightly.

 

“Chuck is…special. And I suppose I should tell you now…so am I,” Logan said with a sigh. He held up his hand, balling it into a fist. “You know there are people out there who can attain...powers…I’m one of them,” he said and with a sigh three blades emerged from between his knuckles.

 

Marie stared, her mouth in the shape of an ‘o’. “That’s…useful,” she said finally. Logan laughed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh, yeah so originally I was going to make this where no one had powers but I decided this is more fun. It's obviously not following the comics or movies it's my own kind of twist. Hopefully you like it!


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